


Tis The Season

by Kayasurin



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Holiday Gift Fics, M/M, short story collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayasurin/pseuds/Kayasurin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories and one-shots, holiday gift-fics. Now up, 2013 Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Icka

Halloween was something Jack hadn't paid attention to before. Personally, that is; professionally, so to speak, there was many a year where he'd arrange the winds just _so_ to make that one night harmlessly spooky, and other years where he had to bring snow, a light dusting that encouraged laughter and cheer. He'd watched the costume parties through frosted over windows, and wondered at the changing candies handed out to the children. Jack laughed and cheered on the costumes, from the basic sheet with eyes cut in for a ghost, to the most complex of 'transforming robots'. He mourned every store bought outfit, somehow feeling it took a bit away from the experience, and guarded the carved pumpkins as best as he could from older children who got their jollies from breaking them.

Professionally, Jack loved Halloween.

Personally, he wasn't so sure.

He'd never dressed up, never been invited to a party, never been given candy. This year- his first Halloween as a Guardian- he'd been told in no uncertain terms that he _was_ going to go to the annual spirit bash, hosted by Scarecrow, a spirit who'd claimed the day for his own. Costumes were non-negotiable. Eating the food, or drinking any of the punch, was a risk most didn't bother with. Scarecrow liked scaring people- not like Pitch, but just because- and the punch sometimes caused hallucinations.

North had given Jack free rein in the attic, to rummage through and hopefully find something that wouldn't be too horrible. Jack had, and then he'd stolen away to practice wearing it, from the shoes with their low heels to the wig that turned him into a brunet once more.

"There's safety in numbers," Tooth had said, before Jack had gone looking for his costume. "We're all going to meet up here first. Oh, at five in the afternoon, Greenwich Time."

"Sure. No problem." Jack had looked to the side, where Bunny had cornered North and Sandy and was talking a mile a minute. "Uh, is Bunny okay? He seems kind of-"

"Oh. He's convincing them to go along with his costume idea." Tooth had rolled her eyes. "He always goes as the same thing every year, and every year he does his best to convince us to match his theme."

"What does he go as?"

Tooth had grinned. "Why don't you guess, when you see him?"

Jack had agreed, and then fled a determined looking alien rabbit. He had no intention of going along with anyone's 'theme', especially not someone he wasn't sure how he felt about.

And now, the big day... Jack looked down at himself again, and grimaced. He felt like an idiot. He was pretty sure he looked alright; he was slender enough- effeminate enough, some might say- to pull the outfit off, and with the brown wig the color didn't make him look washed out or anything, but he couldn't help it. In the days of his childhood, men just didn't wear dresses.

Unless they were on the stage. Then it was accepted and understood that a man would wear skirts, because women weren't allowed to act in plays.

But this wasn't a play. And Jack was wearing a dress. It was a nice dress- deep green velvet for the skirt with its small train, and the bodice, and an ivory blouse that had green embroidery almost like his frost designs at the collar and hems of the sleeves. Simple, as such Victorian styles went, and it fit well enough, even though he had no bust to speak of. The boots were also made out of green velvet, and if his feet felt a little weird, confined as they were, he had to admit the boots looked good, peeking out from under the skirts. The corset was as loose as he could get it, but if he hadn't worn one, the bustle at the back would've probably ended up somewhere around his knees.

Well, no help for it. He'd agreed to meet up with the other Guardians at the workshop, and he had just enough time to get there if the wind flew him very, very fast.

The yeti opening the front door did a double take, and Jack smirked a bit as he walked in. "What do you think?" he asked, and gave a quick, careful spin. "So where are they?"

The yeti pointed up the hall and to the left. Jack nodded, and walked carefully across the workshop floor, skirts lifted so as not to trip himself.

The Guardians had gathered in the favored sitting room. North, Tooth, and Sandy were visible from the doorway, all three of them wearing vintage clothing much like Jack's. North wore an English style overcoat, and was either dressed like a banker, a lawyer, or a doctor of some kind, with the pressed trousers, oxford shoes, and waistcoat, complete with watch chain. He carried an umbrella, furled. Sandy and Tooth wore similar clothes, though Sandy's seemed to be the sand of his robe, reconfigured. Jack didn't see Bunny, and cautiously entered the room.

The other three all turned to look at him, and did impressive double-takes at the sight of a smirking lady in green.

"Well now, what have we here?"

Jack spun, somehow managing not to trip himself, and- and...

Wow. Bunny was wearing clothing.

It all had to have been tailored just for him. The vintage suit managed to suggest 'tweed' without being overpowering, and he wore an overcoat with a half-cape with the assurance of a man who'd worn said coat long enough to have ceased to notice the weight. Bunny was actually wearing a deerstalker hat, somehow without interfering with his ears, but he reached up and slowly pulled it off with one hand. In the other hand, he held a wooden tobacco pipe.

Jack arched one eyebrow. He'd seen the movie often enough, not to mention read the books enough, to recognize Arthur Conan Doyle's creation, fur or no fur. "Bunnymund Holmes, I presume?" he drawled.

Bunny grinned, and Jack didn't need to be able to feel people's _Joy_ to tell how delighted the rabbit was. "At your service, Ms. Adler."

Jack stopped smiling. "Whoa, no, I'm not-"

"No?" Bunny actually took a pull from the pipe, and- yup, that was tobacco smoke, the _old_ stuff without all the modern additives. Either Bunny smoked or he was taking the costume just a _little_ too far. "That there's a Victorian bustle dress, in the style of the eighteen-seventies. You've chosen a riding corset- better for breathing and more importantly, moving, and those there are sensible walking shoes that'd let you outrun pursuit. Coupled with your skill at disguise, there is no reason why you cannot be Irene Adler and many that you are."

"That wasn't a proper Sherlock scan," Jack said, and folded his arms. "And anyways, I'm here as- as a woman doctor."

"No, it wasn't," Bunny agreed, "but I need an Irene and you're the only one wearing a dress."

Jack folded his arms. "What makes you think I want to be your Irene?"

Bunny took several draws on the pipe. "One thing is that it'll show you're with us. You've never been to one of these parties before. Some of the spirits going are tricksters- and not your kind of trickster."

Oh, right, them. Jack grimaced. "I've met a few." There _was_ safety in numbers when it came to those kinds of spirits.

"And another thing- these sorts of parties are more fun if we're all in a theme." Now it was Bunny's turn to arch an eyebrow. "And don't you want to have fun?"

Jack smirked, and stepped closer, the shoes and the corset and the dress all working together to make his hips sway in a more feminine manner. "Irene Adler's a thief, remember?"

"If you can steal something- giving it back day after- out from under my nose..." Bunny chuckled. "Is that a yes, Jackie? You'll be my Irene?" He said the name with a touch of a burr, Ee-ray-nah.

"You're on, Great Detective." Jack glanced to the side. "How'd you convince Tooth to come as Moriarty?"

* * *

Bunnymund all but swaggered through the party, with a dolled up 'Irene' at his side. They parted a few times, Bunnymund to check the punch and bring back drinks if it was safe, Jack swept off to dance with a few of the other party-goers, including North once the Russian got a bit tipsy.

The punch wasn't going to give anyone hallucinations. Just get them drunk. Bunnymund maybe hadn't mentioned the alcohol content.

He'd danced with Jack a few times, too. It'd been... nice. Jack was light on his feet, and didn't seem to have any problems with dancing backwards, either.

And now the night was over, and a not-quite-drunken "North Watson" had invited Bunnymund Holmes, Jack Adler, Tooth Moriarty, and Mycroft Mansnoozie to stay the night, because the world was wobbling and it therefore wasn't safe to go out alone.

Bunnymund wasn't drunk, but he didn't mind not taking the tunnels in his clothes.

"Hold up there, _Great Detective_ ," Jack said. Bunnymund turned and looked at him; in the old fashioned dress and the brown wig, he looked like someone else, someone without all the bad history behind them. "You never said what you'd owe me if I stole something tonight."

"But you didn't steal anything, so I don't owe you." He'd watched, too, looking Jack over carefully for any bit of costume out of place. "Not a handkerchief, not a napkin, not a glass or bit of silverware did you take from Scarecrow."

"You never said it had to be from our _host_." Jack's smile was sly, and the white flakes in his eyes gleamed and danced. He sauntered forward, boot heels clicking faintly against the wood floor. "So, you owe me."

"Not so fast there, Ms. Adler." Bunnymund clenched the stem of his pipe between his teeth. "First you have to tell me what you took."

The winter spirit's expression was almost seraphic. "A kiss."

"A kiss!" He absolutely did not scowl.

Well. Maybe a little bit. "Who from?" he grumbled.

"Okay, I think you're taking the Sherlock Holmes thing a little too far," Jack said, leaning back a touch. "You do remember I'm not actually Irene Adler and you're not actually Holmes, right?"

"Don't be a galah, of course I remember. Now who'd you steal this kiss from?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "North."

Of all the- "North? Our North?" He gestured vaguely towards the Russian's private quarters. "That North?"

"No, the North Wind. Of course our North." Jack poked one finger at Bunnymund's chest. "Ask him... when he's sobered up, maybe. But I stole a kiss from him fair and square, and now you owe me."

"Was he drunk?" Why would Jack kiss _North_? He was... big and loud and thought Christmas was better than Easter. A good friend, sure, but really? Kissing now?

" _No_ , he wasn't drunk. It was a kiss on the cheek and then I gave him over to a Dryad or something who made him squeak." Jack glowered. "And, I repeat, you said you'd owe me if I stole something without your noticing, and I did, so now you owe me."

"I'll confirm with North in the morning. And then, if you did, in fact, steal a kiss, I'll owe you."

"Hah. Good!" Jack turned and started walking towards his guest room. "Don't think you can just cop out! It'd better be good!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Bunnymund folded his arms, and scowled. Great. Now he had to think of something. And somehow he had the feeling Jack would answer a few Easter Eggs with a snowball...

Well, he'd first check with North about the kiss. Then he'd worry over what Jack would get as a prize.

Thoughtfully, he clenched the stem of his pipe between his teeth, and headed towards his own set of rooms. Maybe he'd take a look at his copy of _The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle_ , see if that gave him any ideas of a prize worthy of an Adler.

Even if he was only an Adler for one night...


	2. For Viper

"This is stupid," Jack muttered, his juvenile ruff bristling as he glowered at the world.

Aster bit back any number of annoyed answers, the way he'd been doing for _days_ now. "It's not stupid, it's important. Can't run before you can walk. If you're ever going to shapeshift, you have to start by learning the basics."

Jack hissed at him, and then looked startled by the sound. " _Why_? I've been human forever, it should be _easy_. It's all visualization, you said so yourself!"

"Visualization and _practice_. Otherwise you'll _hurt_ yourself." Aster glared down at the winter spirit- winter _Pooka_ \- from his superior height. "Now shut up and follow the exercises."

"Shut up and follow the exercise," Jack mocked, voice high pitched and snide. Aster ignored it; he thought he wasn't supposed to have heard it in the first place.

Besides, he'd promised North not to argue with Jack right now. The youngster was emotionally wrought at finding out he wasn't as human as he'd thought. Of course, so was Aster! Everyone forgot that, it seemed; he'd resigned himself to the loss of his people, and only just now found out that he hadn't. There were still Pooka, living Underhill with the old Fae. The doors were closed, but if he found the right key-! And until then there was Jack, who'd survived the latest fight against dark spirits by losing hold of a transformation he'd never known about.

Aster hadn't expected Jack to be happy over having lived a lie of species, but- but it was like the lad wanted to reject everything that he now was! Stupid as it was, it felt a bit like Jack was trying to reject everything Aster was, too, and their fragile friendship couldn't take too much of that.

Jack huffed, drawing the old Pooka's attention back to the present. "This is all so... so stupid," he grumbled, and shoved the old scroll carefully away. " _Why_ can't I just go back to being human?"

"Because, from everything you and Tooth pulled from your memories, you weren't the one who transformed you human in the first place." Aster refrained from grabbing Jack by that stupid, now useless hoodie and shaking him. How many times did he have to say this? "If you're going to do it yourself, you have to know how to do it safely-"

"-So I don't hurt myself, I know. Why can't you do it?"

"You're not a kit and I'm not your parent." No. Aster was clearly from an entirely different clan- the markings alone were enough to tell that- and Jack was young, but not a kit.

Jack threw his hands up in the air, almost toppling himself backwards into the grass. Aster had less than a second to consider letting him fall, but then he reached over and caught the winter Pooka. "Watch it."

Jack sniffled, and then- then... Aster looked down, and poked the top of Jack's head a couple times just to make sure that yes, Jack really was hugging him, it wasn't a hallucination brought on by temper and stress.

"How do you stand it?" Jack asked, voice muffled with how he'd pressed his face into Aster's chest ruff.

"Stand... what?"

"The- the noise, and the color, and the _smells_ , bright stars... I can't _sleep_ , Bunny, I keep hearing things and- and-" He sniffled, and hiccupped.

Oh. Right. Aster cuddled Jack close. The youngster hadn't grown up with a Pooka's senses. It had to be overwhelming for him. "I've always been like this," he murmured. What must it be like, to go from barely hearing anything to being able to pick up on someone's heartbeat several feet away? "It's- I'm used to it."

"Well, I'm not!"

"That's why you want so bad to turn human again? Because of your senses?" He stroked one hand down Jack's back, never going against the grain of the fur. With the grain was soothing. Against would only lead to a bite, a kick, or a punch, depending on how annoyed the youngster found it.

"...I miss my dad."

"Gonna have to elaborate there, kiddo."

Jack pulled away, the better to glare. They both pretended the fur on his cheeks wasn't matted down with water. "I'm not a kid."

"Compared to me," he began.

"Compared to you Father Time's a toddler. You old geezer."

"Hey!" He bopped Jack on the head, right between the ears. "Now what about your father?"

Jack needed to learn how to control his ears. At the moment, he wore his heart on them. They drooped down to either side of his face. "I used to look like him."

"Oh."

"I- I mean, I actually looked more like him once I became Jack Frost than... He went gray early." Jack went to run a hand back through his hair, apparently forgetting he had fur now. "But- but now I don't. I look in a mirror-" Or a pond, or any shiny, vaguely reflective surface, "-and I can't recognize the face I see there, and it's so much worse than when I first got my memories back. Instead of white instead of brown, its- its fur instead of skin."

Aster sighed, then wrapped one arm around Jack's shoulders and tugged. "Ah, Frostbite." He hummed under his breath while the youngster did his best to burrow into his fur, getting fistfuls and tugging every so often. "We'll get you looking like a hairless ape in no time. But you have to start at the beginning."

"It's just so annoying," Jack mumbled. " _Why_ do I have to?"

"Best case scenario, you'll end up looking like somebody shaved you bald." And _no one_ wanted that. "Worst case, you could forget to shift a couple of your organs and then you'd have to be hooked up to life support for a few weeks while your body sorted itself out."

He felt Jack's cringe.

"I guess..."

"Look, you'll never concentrate if you can't sleep. How about I rustle up my old 'muffs and find Sandy. See if we can't get you off in dreamland for a tick or two?"

He wondered if Jack knew he was pressing his forehead up against Aster's chin, or what the meaning of such a gesture was. "That sounds good. But... can we just... stay like this, for a little?"

Aster smiled faintly. "Sure, Frostbite. Take all the time you need."

It turned out he didn't need to find his old earmuffs, or Sandy, after all. When he looked down after a few minutes of uncharacteristic silence, Jack was already asleep, still clinging to Aster's fur.


	3. For PookaCurse

1\. Introduction

The first time the Guardians met Jokul, Jack had just bit through his lower lip; the crazed winter spirit thought the taste of blood _hilarious_.

2\. Love

Jokul wound his fingers in Hyde's fur, grinning brightly while the dark Pooka licked the blood off Jokul's shoulders; nothing like slaughtering a few enemies to show the depths of your love, he thought, and giggled.

3\. Light

They both cringed from it, the harsh glare of the sun and the gentler ambience of the moon, both aware that they no longer belonged out in the open where their sins would be visible.

4\. Dark

As far back as Hyde could remember the world had been dark, dark, dark; now that his eyes no longer worked, at least he had Jokul to lead him.

5\. Rot

"Hyde, you dear, sweet, predatory Pooka of mine, I don't care what you eat but I swear if you don't start eating breath mints or something, I'm never having sex with you again- your breath stinks!"

6\. Break

Pitch snapped the staff over his knee, and Jack heard an echo of the snap inside his head, but he had no time to worry about that because he was thrown into a ravine the very next instant.

7\. Before

Sometimes he wondered about before- before he'd become Hyde, before his mate was Jokul, before they'd _been_ mates, and when he wondered he'd chuckle darkly; he must have been blind or something to have never noticed Jack before.

8\. Away

Sometimes Jokul went away, and bad things moved in, and he was always terrified when he came back; Hyde kept him all wrapped up nice and safe and unable to move, but what if one day Hyde wasn't there when Jokul went away- what then?

9\. Cut

"These're too tight," Hyde growled, and traced a sharp claw down the inside of Jokul's leg- it tickled and hurt, so the winter spirit giggled instead of telling his mate that he wasn't, actually, wearing pants.

10\. Breathe

The straps were cinched good and tight, and Hyde's arms were tight around him when Jokul woke up- came back, had a lucid moment, whatever- but right then and there it was more reassuring than anything, so he turned his head and breathed in the scent of old growth, old blood, and paint.

11\. Memory

Sometimes Jokul remembers drowning, clawing at the ice forming over his head with unnatural swiftness, breathing his last; he'll wake up screaming, those times, but Hyde's always there to kiss and bite and fuck the memories away.

12\. Insanity

It was common for North to brood over his vodka, these days, and mourn what had been lost; two of his dearest friends were mad, and there was nothing he could do for them.

13\. Misfortune

"Hello, _Pitch_ ," he said, frost-bitten fingers caressing the broken end of his staff, "how unlucky to go wandering here tonight," and the large Pooka chuckled and grinned, showing off his fangs.

14\. Smile

Someone had told him once "smile, and the world smiles with you" and he wondered if the world smiled when his grin was blood stained and Hyde was chewing on his neck.

15\. Silence

Hyde listened to Jokul's chatter, giggles, cackles, threatening hisses, and bored whining; he only really paid attention when the dark winter spirit went _quiet_.

16\. Spit

"Spit is not proper lubric-aaaaaah right there Hyde, more!"

17\. Blood

Normally, Hyde liked the scent and taste of Jokul's blood, rich and sweet with a hint of copper, but normally Jokul wasn't doubled over and gasping, one half of his staff jabbed into his stomach, the other pointed at the demon who'd gotten uppity- and the demon's blood tasted gritty, like it'd been mixed with sand, so he washed the taste out by licking Jokul's stomach clean.

18\. Chocolate

Jokul cackled and held onto Hyde's shoulders as the Pooka barrelled through North's workshop, six arms as much a threat to the two dark spirits as everyone else; this would show the stupid beard-head what they thought of someone else trying to take over Hyde's role as master chocolatier!

19\. Gray

His hair wasn't actually black, anymore than Hyde's fur was, but both sets of mops had gotten rather dingy (corrupted) until it was almost impossible to see that they were actually gray- not black, not white, not dark, not light, but somewhere in between- mostly dark, though.

20\. Breaking the Rules

It wasn't so much breaking the rules as ignoring them, was Jokul's opinion; icy roads and exploding eggs were _fun_ so long as no one got _badly_ hurt, and a little shock was good for the kids...

21\. Need

Pain and pleasure twined together, like threads of red and gold wrapped around his body, and he clung tight to the source as he came, life affirmed with every drop of blood spilled and every thrust of Hyde's hips.

22\. Desperate

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave me Bunny, I need you too much, just _please_ don't hate me I didn't mean to kill you come back, please- I need you..."

23\. After

Frost bitten fingers and toes matched an extra two hundred pounds in bulk and four feet in height, yet- despite the darkness, despite the crazed grin and the fangs, they were still recognizably Jack and Bunny- but _not_.

24\. Want

He'd been condemned ever since that first day he'd seen Jack flitting by overhead, so bright and innocent and beautiful, and felt the desire curl in and warm his stomach; he couldn't leave his bright Snowflake alone in the dark after that.

25\. Lurking

Easter hadn't gotten any more dangerous over the years, though the eggs were now strangely colored and occasionally unsettling; and if the adults thought they saw dark shadows under the trees, at the edge of the parks, well, it was easy enough to keep the children away from probably harmless lurkers.

26\. Possess

Pitch had never seen anything bright and beautiful that he hadn't wanted to grab hold of and keep, and Jack Frost was no different; breaking the staff was the first part, but then things went horribly, horribly awry, and now he could only take consolation in the darkness curled about the boy's soul, and that he'd dragged the rabbit down with him.

27\. Safety

Safety was in the long sleeves of his jacket and their many, many buckles; safety was in heavy winds and whirling snow; safety was in thick, moving trees that sheltered exploding eggs; but he was only _safe_ when wrapped in large, muscular arms covered in dark fur, and fangs scraping over the skin of his throat.

28\. Sorrow

During his lucid moments, Jack cried, silent tears that wouldn't upset Hyde-Bunny too much, his heart as broken as his mind; he grieved for what he'd done, what had been done to him, and all he'd lost- and gained.

29\. Fairy Tale

In the happy, twinkly stories Disney liked to vomit out on a yearly basis, the brave Pooka warrior should have saved the broken winter spirit through the power of love, restoring him to his bright snow- well, Hyde had saved him, but not the way Disney would have written about, though Jokul was sure the Grimm Brothers would have approved.

30\. Safety First

"Now remember," Jokul said, chortling, "Seatbelts are for wearing, so that little accidents like this don't happen... I mean, North, next time you almost run over Hyde, it'd be so sad if you got thrown out of your sleigh again and bumped your- damn it, I think he's still unconscious."


	4. For Scarecrow

Jack sighed a little, and stuck his staff in the umbrella stand he'd carved a few centuries back. Moon, but sometimes he missed his early centuries, before and just a little after he'd become a Guardian. Only a handful of believers then, no real duties beyond keeping an eye out for wayward snow clouds... Oh, that had been the _life_!

Except not really, 'cause it'd been way too lonely. Things were better now. Busy, but better.

Now Jack Frost was a Name, like Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy (Mistress of Memory, actually- he wasn't sure just when it'd changed, like a kaleidoscope shifting into a new pattern), the Sandman, and... he grinned. The Easter Bunny.

"Hey, Kangaroo," he called. "Where you at?"

"Kitchen."

Right, right... Yeah, about dinner time, he supposed. Jack was too tired to feel hungry, over much- the latest meeting of the seasonal spirits had turned into a battle royal free for all and he'd had to smack a _lot_ of heads to make everyone calm down. And that'd just been the first hour.

Next time Mother Nature asked him to be her Serjeant-at-Arms, he'd have to say thanks but no thanks. Before, he'd at least been able to duck out of the quarterly meetings. Now he had to be there for every little thing. It cut into his time with the children, his time with the other Guardians, and his time at home with Aster. At least the post only lasted a single millennia at a time. Another four centuries and he'd be free.

Jack shuffled down the short hallway, and turned into the kitchen. He smiled automatically at Aster, and murmured a quiet hello.

And then his eyes caught up with his brain. Panic slammed his heart into high gear, even as sheer professionalism locked his body down to immobility.

The small table was set with the good china, the white, lacy table cloth, and the good crystal glasses. The stuff Aster'd been holding onto for- for a very long time, long before he'd met Jack. The technological lights were off, leaving the room lit only by the carefully shielded candle on the table. And the food smelt divine.

"This looks fancy," he said, and leaned sideways against the door frame. Crap-on-a-stick, had he forgotten an anniversary? First fight, first date, first kiss, first time they'd had sex without a fight first?

There was music playing, something low and throaty from the twenty-first century. Aster hated music players, said no matter how far human technology advanced he could still hear the crackle of electricity through the wires.

"Thought today deserved a bit of shine to it, yeah," Aster said. He wiped his hands off on a dish cloth, and then sauntered across the kitchen. He pressed a kiss to Jack's mouth, but pulled back before the winter power could deepen it. "Plenty of time for that later, love," he said.

"You know me. No patience. Instant gratification." Oh holy shit, Aster was dressed up. For him.

Where had the overgrown rabbit found greaves that fit on his legs? And oh, his bracers were the fancy ones he'd never wear in an actual fight... Jack scowled at his mate's back. Bastard knew what the shiny armor did to him. And here Aster'd gone to all the work of making a fancy dinner. It'd be rude to jump him and skip to dessert first.

"Sit down. I've got the food."

"Sure you don't want any help?" Jack brushed at his sweater. "Should I change?"

"Yes, and no. Sit."

Jack sat.

Aster carried over a tureen of soup, a cold one they both enjoyed. And then, right while Jack was taking a bite, the rabbit began playing footsie under the table!

Not _entirely_ shocking, but- Jack's eyes widened, right before he started playing back. "So," he said. "How was your day?"

"Took a wander up to North's. He's experimenting with the sleigh again."

"Elves scattered to the four corners?"

"Worse. To the rafters."

Jack decided it wasn't the anniversary of their first meeting or anything like that- not the first meeting, not the first fight, and not the first time they'd fucked. Something more important than that. And he couldn't remember. Crap.

He chatted lightly about his day through the next three courses- actual courses, from soup to salad, skipping the fish 'cause Aster couldn't eat sea food and Jack couldn't stand the taste, to the main dish which turned out to be Jack's favorite casserole and his skin was maybe starting to crawl because oh holy crap he'd forgotten something really important and Aster was going to _skin him alive_ for this!

"Feel up to dessert?" Aster asked, once he'd cleared the dinner dishes away. Jack smiled a little; Aster just dumped the dishes in the sink. While the Pooka could cook, and how, he couldn't clean worth a damn. Jack still remembered the first time he'd seen the burrow, and how he'd torn two handfuls of hair out at the closet full of dirty dishes.

"Are you on the menu?" he teased.

Aster turned away from the sink, and smirked. "Maybe later tonight. But I made your favorite honey cakes."

Oh hell, he was so very dead. Again. And the Moon wouldn't bring him back this time. "Nah. Maybe in a bit."

"Sounds good," Aster said, and held out one hand. "C'mere."

Jack went. What else could he do? He took Aster's hand, and automatically rested his other hand on the rabbit's hip, and then they were swaying from side to side, moving in a gentle circle.

Dancing. Forget dead- death was too good for him. Aster _hated_ dancing. In a choice between what he hated more, Pitch Black or a waltz, the Pooka would have a damn hard time picking just which was worse. Jack, of course, loved it, danced every chance he could get- always with their friends.

"You didn't have to get all fancy," Jack said. He was _sure_ they'd gotten hitched in the summer, it being their mutual off seasons, so they'd had more time for the honeymoon and general newlywed bliss.

Said bliss had lasted up until Aster clogged the bath drain with his fur, _again_ , but back then a single night had been a record.

Aster shook his head. "Oh no. I absolutely did. Very important day."

"Mm. Still. Lot of effort."

"Worth every bit of it."

Jack slid in closer so he could pillow his cheek against Aster's chest, and maybe not so incidentally hide his sudden look of panic. He only pulled back when he had control over his expression. Control that nearly shattered when he saw his mate's face.

Aster looked... Happy. Content. He was smiling gently and there was such love and warmth in his eyes Jack's heart clenched and he stumbled.

The song they were dancing to choose that moment to end. Jack straightened up, and coughed. "Sorry about that," he said.

The Pooka didn't respond verbally, just tugged Jack in close for a hug. He rested his chin atop Jack's head. It was a perfect hug, the kind that always made Jack's throat close up a little.

And then the hug ended, as all good things did. Aster kissed Jack again, a teasing brush of lips and tongue, and then pushed him lightly towards the table.

"Sit your arse down, birthday boy, I'll get the cakes."

Jack nodded, and took two steps before he stopped short. "Birthday?" he asked.

"What. Forgot your own birthday?"

He tallied up the days in his mind. "Is it February seventh already?" How old was he now? "Wait, we didn't celebrate this before, did we?"

Aster looked exasperated. "You're a round thousand today, Jackie, from your birth on. Important milestone for you."

" _Oooh_." Right. Spirits didn't celebrate every year lived. "You know, here I'd thought I'd forgotten something important!"

The Pooka narrowed his eyes. "You telling me your birthday isn't important?" he asked, voice dangerous and low.

Jack grinned. This, he knew how to deal with. "Why, what're you going to do about it?"

Aster smirked, and lunged.


	5. For Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, warnings. Personally, anyone who reads something under the Jackrabbit tag is signing up for permanent teenagers with ice powers getting it on with anthromorphic not-rabbits, so there really shouldn't be any complaining. However, not everyone signs up for tentacles, so... Yeah. Warnings for tentacles of the potentially naughty variety. No worries, Jack is consenting, Bunny is consenting, the tentacles are consenting.
> 
> I'm sorry this got long, it spawned a 'verse in my head.

Jack blamed the hugs. Really, they were the start of the whole thing.

Probably.

The thing was, the main thing, the honest thing- Jack knows he's a touch starved, greedy little bastard who doesn't know when to stop hugging someone. And the others have their ways of dealing with it, especially at the start where- he'd never initiate the hug, but he never turned one down either. Not even one of North's spine crackers. And then he'd just... stay there. Clinging. Like a clingy little thing.

Sandy would go limp in Jack's grasp, waiting for the winter spirit to let go, which could take a while. Tooth started wiggling when she got uncomfortable, until Jack had to let go because she'd knocked her shoulder against his chin a half dozen times and bruises under the chin were weird and not cool. North would pat Jack's shoulder, and pat Jack's shoulder, and clear his throat, and make unsubtle comments. And by that point the elves would have noticed Jack and would descend in a mob of glitter and bells, which tended to solve the 'not letting go' problem quite nicely.

They were always nice about it, but still. Jack probably would've been happy to spend hours hanging off each of them, but they didn't have that kind of time.

Bunny... When they got to that point, where Bunny felt comfortable hugging Jack and Jack didn't flinch away because Bunny had a mean right hook, okay... Well. Bunny would sling an arm around Jack's shoulder, and Jack would lean against him, and then Jack would wrap his arms around Bunny's ribs and cling. And Bunny maybe didn't always hug back, depending on how close it was to Easter and what else the lagomorph was doing, but he let Jack cling. And he never, ever hinted or outright stated that Jack needed to let go, c'mon, things to do, can't do any of it with a winter spirit hanging off him...

It was nice.

Only Jack started to notice that Bunny's hugs were... occasionally kind of weird.

In a too-many-limbs kind of way.

He first noticed it happening just after Easter, when Bunny was so tired he was staggering like a drunk. The hug at the time was more like Jack propping Bunny up. And then he felt _more_ than just two arms wrapped around him. He'd started to look down, and-

Jack figured Bunny had panicked, because he'd yelped, shoved Jack away, and bolted.

Into a _wall_.

Jack had shoved his hurt down into a tiny little pocket in the back of his brain, and hurried over to see if Bunny was dead or something. He wasn't, just... Really badly bruised. Possibly concussed. And whatever the _more_ had been, there was no evidence of it.

So Jack hoisted Bunny up, dragged him back to the rabbit's burrow, fed him, and kept an eye on him overnight. Also asked questions, because Bunny was pretty much a captive subject for Jack's curiosity. Which was how Jack found out Bunny was a shapeshifter- "Were you melting, earlier?" "Wha- _No_!" "Just checking." -and an alien- "You better not try to probe me." "Am I being punished for something?" -and his real name was E. Aster Bunnymund.

Whatever, Bunny was still Bunny, and he chased Jack out of the Warren the next morning with dire threats. Jack threw a snowball or twenty at him. You know, the usual.

The next time he noticed the weird hug was also when Bunny was exhausted, this time after North's birthday. Jack had only arrived for the last half, which was when the drinking contests had started. So Bunny was tired- the party had gone on for two and a half days- and drunk. Jack noticed the- the _more_ \- but did his best not to react right away, because he didn't want shoved away again. That had hurt.

He helped Bunny up to the guest room, the _more_ wrapped around his torso the entire time, and only when they'd reached the door did he stop and pull Bunny into a proper hug.

And stroked his hand down Bunny's spine, until he felt muscles twitching where there hadn't been any before.

Probably not.

Jack pulled back. "Tentacles?"

Bunny looked like he was going to puke. Jack hustled him into the bathroom.

Bunny didn't puke. He also wasn't very coherent. His hands kept trying to push Jack away, but the tentacles were... very grabby! Jack yelped when one curled around his thigh, and dove forwards into Bunny's chest to try and get away from the one trying to curl into his _pants_.

"O-okay. Um. Handsy- handsy? Tentacles. Um, Bunny, your- they're _groping_ me stop it!"

"They like you," Bunny said, mournful as only a drunk could be.

"They can like me in the morning, you need to drink water and go to bed."

He managed to get Bunny poured into bed, on his stomach because sleeping on the tentacles just sounded painful, and then... Well. Jack indulged his curiosity. Bunny was asleep, dead to the world.

The tentacles- there were four of them- twitched faintly when he ran a gentle hand down along one. The higher two sprouted from Bunny's back, just under the shoulder blades, while the lower two were just above the fluffy cottontail.

Jack maybe also took the opportunity to tweak that tail a few times, because it was so fluffy and cute and he maybe felt a little like a cat sometimes, wanting to paw at it.

Jack paused and sat back in his chair. "Deviant thoughts later, observation now."

He went back to studying the tentacles. The upper two were a little longer than the bottom two, but all four were about six feet long. They started out as thick as his wrist, and didn't get _much_ thinner, until the bottom... five inches? Whatever, at the tips, the tentacles turned into a kind of flat leaf shape- or they did when Jack encouraged them to unroll, because apparently they were kept furled up- about the size of his hand, without the fingers spread. One side of the 'leaf' was covered in short, sharp barbs, kind of like rose thorns. Jack didn't touch them.

Over all, he thought, the tentacles looked like a cross between a monkey's tail, and a cat's, and were covered in short fur, gray and black bands, until the ends which were mostly gray covered in black speckles. They didn't look... tacked on to Bunny's back; the muscle groups all worked together, clearly. It looked kind of natural, actually.

When Bunny woke up, he did so groaning. Jack had expected that, hangovers were a bitch and a half, and had water and Phil's painkilling tea ready. Bunny didn't look much better once he'd rejoined the land of the living, and he seemed to be trying to keep his tentacles tucked away behind him.

Jack didn't let him. He grabbed one tentacle, which promptly furled the 'leaf' so the thorns were all on the inside, and curled around his arm like a friendly snake. "So, how come you don't have these all the time?"

"Shapeshifter," Bunny reminded him. "They- stop, that tickles- they made people uneasy, so we just... hid them."

"Okay but where do they go?" Jack stroked along the fur, and frowned up at Bunny when he made a strange moaning sound. "Are you going to puke? Because if we are we should probably move this to the bathroom."

"The mass remains part of me and could you stop that? They're very sensitive!" Bunny uncurled the tentacle from Jack's arm, and hunched in on himself.

Jack frowned, but shoved his hands in his sweater pocket. "Okay. So... you keep 'em hidden?"

Bunny nodded.

"Is it painful?"

The alien rabbit hesitated, and then shrugged. "Can be. Sometimes."

Jack frowned again. "You don't have to. I don't care. I'm pretty sure the others wouldn't, if they don't know."

And that was a turning point. Sort of. After that, at least in the Warren, Bunny tended to keep his tentacles out- and at least one wrapped around Jack's waist while Jack hugged him. It was weird at first, but kind of nice, even when he occasionally had to fish the end of the tentacle out from under his sweater.

"Sorry. But, ah, they kind of have a mind of their own."

Jack held the tentacle tip in both hands. It was very warm, or his hands were very cold, and- he almost blushed when his brain, stupid thing, came up with the comparison- roughly as thick as Jack's erect cock. Somehow he had the feeling Bunny wouldn't appreciate Jack mentioning that. "How can they have their own brain?" he asked, and shook his head. Let Bunny think it was confusion; Jack was trying to physically throw off weird mental images.

"There's enough nerve endings in the four of 'em to be almost the same as a human brain. No higher thought, just... Like octopuses, a bit."

Right, octopus arms reacted to stimuli before the octopus brain did. "Okay, that makes sense. Why do your tentacles keep ducking under my shirt?"

"Curiosity?" Bunny suggested, and shrugged.

Weird but... whatever, hugs of nearly any kind were good.

But then the _rocks_ started.

"Bunny..." Jack stared down at the rock in his hand. It was a chunk about the size of his palm, roughly shaped so that the deliberate facets shimmered blue in the light. He was pretty sure it was laboradorite, but he had no idea when the not-rabbit had found the time to duck over and visit Canada. "Bunny, this is a rock."

Bunny scowled. "Well, if you don't want it-"

Jack danced backwards. "No, no, it's pretty, it's nice, I'm just... why a rock? I brought you snow, you give me a rock?"

Bunny glared, and tried to smack him upside the head. Jack flew out of reach, and took the rock with him.

It started a theme. Every time Jack visited, Bunny gave him a rock. They were always small enough to tuck into a pocket, they were always blue, and mostly they were shiny. Some of them were more like quartz crystals, with that... rectangular blocky look (Bunny got a pained expression whenever Jack described one of the gifts like that, so he did so as often as possible) while others looked like field stone or river rocks.

Jack maybe started giving Bunny rocks back, because when in Crazy-Land, do as the crazies do. So he picked up sea glass when visiting with Sandy, if it was green, and the one time he found a really good fake emerald he gave Bunny that too, and Bunny always looked charmingly pleased when Jack gave him a return gift. It made Jack feel good, even while he mentally smacked around his inner pervert for trying to make something of it.

Things trundled along like that- Christmas and Easter and first snow and then one day Jack woke up and Jamie was seventeen. And Sophie was fourteen. And he'd been a Guardian for _ten whole years_.

He maybe panicked.

A little.

Bunny all but locked him in the Warren, then went out and got Jack's first believers, and Sophie, to help calm him down. Good thing Easter was over, because the epic snowball fight managed to cover most of the Warren's workspace in slush. Glorious, fun slush that sparkled blue like most of the rocks Bunny gave him.

When things calmed down, most of the kids had to leave. They had afterschool jobs, most of them, and those that didn't had studying. Jack was surprised and touched that they'd skipped school just for him, and maybe a little proud too.

Sophie was the only one who stayed. She prodded him into helping her make daisy chains and flower necklaces while Bunny escorted the older children back to the surface. And then maybe talked him into wearing a flower crown, three necklaces, and a flower bandolier. To be fair, she matched him.

Bunny got back, and Jack immediately latched onto his arm. It was weird seeing the cottontail without his four extra limbs, but it meant he had a disadvantage when they wrestled now. Jack was used to fending off six 'arms', not two.

"Bunny needs a crown," he said, and wrestled the not-rabbit into sitting next to Sophie.

"You're right." She lifted one already prepared.

"Wrong," Bunny growled. He leaned away. "Wrong, wrong, wro- oh all right, stop with the teary eyes!"

Sophie plopped the flower crown on Bunny's head, between the ears. Bunny folded his arms and sulked. Jack about died laughing.

Sophie went home a few hours later, having done her job cheering Jack up and denuding Bunny's flower gardens. Jack helped clean up after the kids- mostly by urging the remaining slush to spread out so it would melt faster.

"Thanks, cottontail," he said, and leaned against Bunny.

He felt an arm and two tentacles wrap around him. "You're welcome, Frostbite."

And then Bunny went _completely crazy_.

Jack spent two weeks out of the Warren, arguing with Father Frost about why it wasn't nice to freeze Norwegian towns during the summer. It wasn't right, it got people upset, and if he really wanted chilly cheese fries, he was totally allowed to go into town to get some so long as he _left the snow and ice at home_.

He headed for the Warren after that, figuring he'd be able to relax in the relative sanity of the Land Down Under the Land Down Under. There'd be a blue rock- he had _quite_ the collection by now- and hugs and tentacles, and he'd mostly gotten his inner pervert under control by that point. Bunny wasn't interested. He knew how Jack was with subtle, he'd have said or done something to indicate his interest if he had any. And he hadn't. So he wasn't.

Jack was maybe a little sad about that, but he wasn't going to ruin the best friendship he'd ever had just because his inner pervert thought the tentacles were hot and the fluffy tail extremely gropable.

And, you know, the butt under the tail extremely- anyways!

Only, the moment he entered the Warren, Bunny pounced.

He must have been waiting. Jack thrashed about as best as he could, but the tentacles were wrapped tight around his arms and torso, and there was rope around his wrists, and then he was in a _chair_ and being tied to the chair, _what_?

"Bunny," he said, "What-" And then he stopped, because not only was he tied to a chair, Bunny had an old fashioned easel set up, with one of those jumbo pads of paper that used to be used for business meetings pre-PowerPoint.

The pad of paper looked like someone had written and drawn on it.

The first page had, in large, block letters, "WHY BUNNYMUND WOULD MAKE JACK FROST A GOOD MATE". It'd been underlined three times.

Bunny stood beside the easel, practically vibrating in place. Jack had to wonder how much coffee he'd had; the not-rabbit looked ready to bug out.

"Jack, we really need to talk."

"Bunny. What."

Bunny flipped the page with one tentacle, and began gesturing with his hands. He looked like he was trying to flag down an alien spacecraft. Or maybe swat all the mosquitoes trying to eat him. "I've been trying to make it clear for years now, Jackie, but you're just not getting it. I don't even mind when you frost the grass anymore, that's a big deal for me!"

Yeah, yeah it was. Jack contorted his wrists and hands so he could reach the knot in the rope, and started untying himself.

Bunny just got more and more animated as he went on. One of his points was something about his burrow. Apparently he'd dug it himself. Another point was that he was clean- which, no, he wasn't. Bunny didn't leave dirty dishes around, true, but dust was thick enough to write in, and the less said about the mats of fur in the corners, the better.

Jack got one rope undone, but it wasn't the one around his wrists. Still, one was better than none. He kept working.

Bunny flipped more papers. Something about lots of experience, something about no in-laws of doom (huh?), something else about feeling lonely when Jack was away, which, okay, was actually kind of nice to hear.

Jack managed to get the last knot undone, and felt the ropes around his wrists loosen. Yes! Now to pull off the strangely silken ties- he was pretty sure he'd seen something similar in a BDSM shop one time, but his inner pervert was being strangely silent about it- and make Bunny talk sense.

"-and I've got a big donger!"

Jack almost gave himself whiplash. " _What_?"

Bunny flinched back. Jack blinked at him several times, and then looked at the paper again. And thought about what Bunny had been saying. And then he looked back at Bunny, who returned the almost horrified stare, with interest.

"Bunny," Jack said, and pulled the rope from around his wrist. "Was this- are you- what is this, your way of telling me you'd like us to be-"

"Married," Bunny almost whispered.

"-Boyfriends- _married_?"

Bunny flinched again.

Jack raked both hands back through his hair. "Isn't this a little sudden?" he asked. When had Bunny ever even _hinted_ \- he hadn't, Jack was pretty sure he'd have noticed, he'd kind of been _looking_. And he hadn't seen anything.

"I've been courting you for near ten years," Bunny growled, and stalked over so he could loom at Jack. Jack was well used to Bunny looming; being short made looming a thing people did without meaning to.

"No you haven't!"

"I kept touching you with my _plectrum_ -" Jack assumed he meant tentacles, "-and gifting you nest materials- and you gave me some back so don't say you didn't know what I was doing!"

Jack fumbled wordlessly for a second. "That was- no! What the hell Bunny, no, that's not how humans do it, I thought you were hugging me back and the rocks were friend stuff, not-! Oh my god, ten years, you mean we could've been jumping each other before this?"

Now it was Bunny's turn to fumble wordlessly. He was better at it, Jack thought. Bunny's tentacles made obscure shapes as they wiggled in tune with his brain. Clearly, the not-rabbit was very confused. "I- yes, hugging with my _plectrum_ \- you didn't realize?"

Jack growled under his breath. "If I'd realized, you'd have known. In under five seconds. That's not how humans do courtship, you idiot!"

"Well," Bunny spluttered. "How do humans court, then?"

"Going out on dates? Flirting? Saying 'hey I like you, wanna have sex'? Hell, you know I don't do subtle, you could've slipped a tentacle into my pants, I would've gotten a clue _real_ quick then!"

Bunny slipped a tentacle into Jack's pants.

Jack lunged forward and kissed him.


	6. For Corgi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Continuation of Little Boy Blue. Experiment in writing style.

"You know, I thought he'd have noticed by now."

"Desmond."

" _Pa_ pa..."

"Don't whine, kiddo. He'll notice when he notices and not before."

"You're not 'fluencing him with the marriage bond, are you?"

"... I'm going to pretend you didn't a- suggest I'd manipulate Aster mentally and b- suggest I'd keep such an important secret from him."

"Papa, you're pregnant. _I_ can tell."

"Are you really annoying the guy with hormones making him crazier than a pregnant woman would be? Are you? Because, Des, beloved son of mine and one of my life's lights-"

"One? Oh, right, Da."

"-you- that's it. Out."

"But Papa!"

"No! Get out, go, I don't want to see you until dinner. Out!"

"Yes, Papa. Sorry."

"That'd be more believable if you weren't grinning."

"I'll remember that for next time."

* * *

"Oh my- _Desmond_!"

"Oh! Uh, hi Da."

" _It's Mr. Bunny_... Uh oh. Um, hi Mr. Bunny."

"Kids. Desmond and I need to talk."

"Um, Mr. Bunny, Des asked permission-"

" _Kids_."

"... Sorry, Des. We'll just, um, we'll just go..."

"And take your... What is that?"

"Creamer cannon."

" _Creamer cannon_. Which shoots creamer into the air. And sets it on fire."

"With a great big fireball!"

"Quiet, Desmond!"

"Sorry, Da..."

"... Desmond, I thought we agreed you were supposed to ask permission before performing any of these... tests that you see on television."

"It's a Mythbuster's experiment, and I _did_ ask."

"Who?"

"My older brother."

"Your- he's not _here_ , Desmond."

"Yes he is."

"That's funny, I don't see him."

"You don't... Da!"

"Don't wail at me. Now, since no one got hurt I won't ground you this time, but if you do this again..."

"Are you going to tell Papa?"

"Jack's been cranky recently. We'll keep this quiet. But no more creamer cannons."

"Alright..."

"And no more cannons, of any kind!"

"But Papa's allowed to play with cannons!"

"Your Papa knows how to use them without hurting anyone. Now come on, it's time for dinner. Jack'll be upset if we're late."

"... I really did ask my older brother, Da."

"Scoot, ya crazed rug rat."

"Yes Da."

* * *

"You never pay any attention! As long as Easter goes off with a hitch the rest of the world could be going to hell in a handbasket!"

"Jack. Jackie, Snowflake, Frostbite... Why'd you throw your pants at me?"

" _Argh_! You're such an idiot!"

"No, no, no, don't cry, love, come here, whatever I've done I'll fix it, just don't... Ow! Why'd you hit me?"

"That's _it_. I'm stealing a sign from Vegas."

"Wha- Jack? What- Hey, no, wait, you're not wearing pants!"

"They don't _fit_!"

"... Hey, lookit that, you're putting on weight- hey, no snowballs in the house! This is a good thing! Not my fault you're such a skinny little- get back here!"

* * *

"... North, your _thing_ for shoving blokes in sacks..."

"Bunny, we're holding an intervention."

"An... Why?"

"Don't give that look. Chair is sturdy, you cannot break chains."

_Rabbit shape. Exclamation mark. Exasperated face._

"Really, Aster, you need to pay more _attention_."

"Right now I'm paying attention to the fact that my friends are all a bunch of- of idiots. What's this about?"

"Jack. And Desmond."

"What _about_ them?"

"... Either you're being deliberately obtuse or you actually haven't realized. Desmond has been shedding. Jack has been gaining weight. What do those things suggest to you?"

"That Desmond's growing up and Jack's finally not a spindly little stick anymore?"

"... Well that answers that question. Someone else try, I dislike beating my head against a brick wall."

_Golden steam shooting out of the ears._

"Oy! What're you all on about?"

"Bunny! Argh, _Arkhangelsky_! Desmond's _shoulders_ , Jack's _stomach_ \- ah!"

"... Did... did he just..."

"Break chains?"

"Yes, he did. Sanderson, are you alright?"

_Two thumbs up._

"Well, that's something at least."

"I suppose he's gone to look."

* * *

"Jack- Desmond. There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

"... Da, is there a reason why you're draped in chains? Is this reason one I _want_ to know?"

"My friends are idiots. Let me see your shoulders."

"You've seen them all week, Da."

"Yes, but I haven't... ah... Oh. _Oh_."

"... air..."

"Des. You..."

"Yeah... air... can't breathe... squishing me..."

"You- my son, my... Oh. Oh, Des... And you're here, you- ...Desmond."

"I can breathe again!"

"Desmond, asking yourself permission to do things doesn't count."

"... Spoil my fun, why don't you."

"We'll talk about that later... Desmond..."

"Yeah, Da, I get it. You're happy I'm... you know. Me. Hoata's son. My own older brother. But I like air!"

"Fine, fine... Oh, Des..."

"Stop gooshing over me and go talk to Papa. We'll have a celebratory dinner or something. You can cook."

"Fine, fine... He's in the bedroom?"

"Yeah, looking for pants that'll fit."

* * *

"Jack, mate... uh..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Well, that was fun."

"Your own bloody fault for being naked."

"I wasn't complaining."

"Mm... What's this?"

"My stomach. And a little below would be my dick. But you should know that by now."

"Don't be a smartass."

"It's like you don't know me..."

"Oh, I know you... But... Jack, I thought you were just putting on a bit of weight. This... isn't putting on a bit of weight."

"You really are an idiot, aren't you...? If I didn't love you, Cottontail..."

"Jack?"

"You can start working on the nursery tomorrow- _Air_! Goddamn it, Aster, I need air!"


	7. For Taco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Vindicated universe.

Jack wiggled his shoulders a little, and cracked one eye open. It had been quiet. With a three year old daughter running about, and visiting triplets of the same age, _quiet_ wasn't as restful as it should have been.

Ah, there was his little monster. Roswitha was playing nicely with the triplets, or as nicely as toddlers got. The four of them were still clustered together. Roswitha had her blocks, and was alternating gnawing on the corners and stacking them atop each other. After a certain point, she knocked the tower down, and chortled at the chaos.

His little Rose wasn't much for making noise. Aster said that was normal; while human children started babbling somewhere around two years of age, Pooka kits typically remained quiet until seven or eight. Jack had considered earth rabbits, and the sort of dangers a large, bipedal rabbit species might face, and simply nodded.

As for the triplets, Shay had given them soft, cloth dollies, which they seemed content to mouth with their baby fangs, and whack each other over the head with. From the grins they all sported, the whacking of each other was considered _great_ fun.

 "Just relax," Shay muttered, slurring a little. He was curled up on a rock, not one of the egg sentinels, but much the same shape. His shirt was off, and Jack would have been nervous just from that, but for one thing.

The Unseleighe King was 'dressed' in bandages. From neck to navel, and to his elbows, it wasn't possible to see any skin whatsoever. When he, Maeve, and the triplets had showed up, proverbial hats in hand, to beg for an afternoon in the Warren just to relax, he'd been limping as well, and completely unable to carry any of his children. Of course Aster had welcomed them in, for as long as they needed. And certainly today, the second day Shay had been visiting, the bandages were spotted with a lot less blood than before.

No one had explained why Shay had been so injured. Jack didn't want to know. While _he_ hunted pure spirits, less now that he had Roswitha and Aster, Shay went after the Unlawful Fae courts, Seleighe and Unseleighe alike. Even with George to help, that was extremely dangerous.

He suspected one of Shay's hunts had gone bad. That was enough for him to know. Anything more might get him involved.

Not that he wasn't already involved. Jack clenched his teeth on a groan. As a Womb of Winter, he was a highly valued _prize_ to most spirits. He'd spent a century captive, while the Unlawful Unseleighe Queen tried to get children from him, one way or other. He'd managed to hold her off quite nicely, but the experience had changed him. Now- well, he was considered a half-blood fae, neither human or Unseleighe. And he was also leery of physical contact. He'd spent a whole year drawing Aster's blood whenever the Pooka got handsy- which, considering Aster had just wanted to return the favors Jack kept bestowing him, had been frequent.

Now Jack was fine with almost anything Aster did, though he still needed warning if he was going to be pinned down and kissed senseless. When surprised, Jack still reacted first with fangs and claws.

He checked the toddlers again, and then lay back, satisfied that if the triplets were hitting each other, they weren't about to start bleeding. And Roswitha was busy with her blocks.

"What do you suppose our beloved mates are up to?" he asked, and stretched out again. Winter spirits weren't supposed to enjoy basking in sunlight. Jack supposed he was a rather poor winter spirit. Not only did he love basking, he adored hot baths, hot chocolate, and his mate, whose temperature always ran quite high.

"Talking, of course. Commiserating. The horrors of having a trickster for a mate," Shay murmured.

Right. Maeve's hair was bright, neon green lately. Jack eyed Shay sidelong, but didn't say anything. Bunny had woken up with a reverse Mohawk, after all.

Stupid Pooka shouldn't have made that crack about Jack's stomach. He'd been _pregnant_. Things had gotten _stretched_. And anyways, Aster loved how Jack's stomach was no longer concave, or perfectly flat, and so _there_.

Jack sniffed, and closed his eyes. Their respective mates could complain to each other all they wanted, Jack was going to drowse and relax. If he hadn't been fighting recently, well, Roswitha had caught a bug and been miserable. If he'd slept four hours in the last ten days, he'd be surprised.

He drowsed, until a small hand- definitely a hand, and not an abbreviated paw, like her father's- patted his cheek.

"Mm?" he asked, and cracked open one eye.

His darling daughter beamed at him. A part of him was always surprised when he saw her teeth. Apparently Pooka grew their teeth in the first week or so of life, and then, barring accident, never lost them. Ah, well, she was very much her father's child, from the white tips of her short little ears to her white-tipped little feet. Her arms and legs were a little different from Aster's, Jack's human influence, and her ears were shorter, like an arctic hare's next to a more southerly bunny, but in all other ways, she was Pooka. Her eyes were big for her face, with very little by way of sclera, much like Aster's. Although, her eyes were less green and more hazel, something Jack blamed on his mortal heritage.

Roswitha was cream to her father's blue-gray, with the start of white markings on her shoulders, forehead, and down her back. She also had the white stomach, although for her, the white fur began at the hollow of her throat down to the groin, instead of from the chin.

"Hello, _meine Tochter_. Tired of your blocks?" Jack reached across and stroked one hand over her head. Roswitha ground her teeth in a purr, and nodded. "Want to cuddle?" She nodded again, and crawled onto his chest. At three years old, she weighed perhaps thirty pounds. Apparently that was normal, too, and she wouldn't get a real growth spurt until she started talking.

He rested one hand on her back, and closed his eyes again. Somewhere, likely in the Burrow, Aster and Maeve were gossiping about children and annoying trickster mates. The triplets were amusing each other. Shay was healing.

Jack wouldn't sleep, because someone needed to watch for danger, but with his daughter curled up on him, he was as content as could be.


	8. For Nike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings- Past Character Death and experimental writing style. I'm sorry Nike.

"Do you believe in reincarnation?" Jack asks, twitching like a nervous squirrel. His eyes are too bright, too fast, darting back and forth like minnows. His knuckles are white. He clutches his staff to his chest, hunching over it, half a step and a loud voice away from snarling like a frightened dog.

Most days, Jack remembers how to act like a human, like someone who's been visible hundreds of years and hasn't spent more time with wild animals than people.

Most days aren't today.

Bunny keeps his body language calm, ears flopping relaxed against his neck, muscles loose in his shoulders. Jack comes to him with his problems. Probably because Bunny forgets to move like a person, too, moves like a wild rabbit instead. Jack understands that, most days.

Loud voices and expansive gestures and fingers in the mouth- well.

Bunny understands Jack, and Jack understands Bunny, so the boy comes to the rabbit and retreats to the sky when things frighten him.

"Too many people remember being Cleopatra," he says, talking to his flowers instead of Jack. "So either they're makin' it up or she had split personality."

Jack fiddles with his staff, curled inward, a protective rounding of his shoulders. Bunny's fingers itch for charcoal and paper. He suppresses the urge. Jack's not comfortable being drawn. He runs faster from a sketchbook than from the retort of a gun.

"They could be remembering wrong," he says.

Bunny hums in agreement, and nestles the sprouted daffodil in the hole he dug. With his hands, thank you. A spade's too distant; you can't feel the earth through the blade. Dirt under his claws and rootlets against the pads of his fingers, that's what gardening means.

He gardens, and Jack stays, uncurling slightly as he watches. This is nice, Bunny thinks, remembering centuries back, when Jack was Jokul, and didn't have that staff but did have runes inked onto his skin in blue.

He wonders how Jack got rid of them. Wonders why.

He doesn't ask though. Questions make Jack nervous, too.

"I remember things," Jack says, when Bunny pauses for a drink of water. He laps the water up from the bucket, sticks his face down instead of using the ladle. The water tastes better that way.

"Like what?" Bunny asks, absently, like the answer doesn't matter. Like he's only half listening.

Jack doesn't laugh it off, or change the subject, or go quiet. He skips down off his perch, an outcropping of stone good to lie on and watch the fields as the flowers bloom. He floats, thistledown, a snowflake, familiar colors of blue and white at the corner of Bunny's vision.

"Stuff that didn't happen. Couldn't have. I wasn't- I mean. You. I think. Maybe."

Bunny flicks an ear at him instead of coming to attention.

"But it couldn't have happened," Jack says. "My name's always been Jack. Not Jokul."

Slowly, slowly, Jack's more skittish than a wild deer. Bunny turns around. "I knew a Jokul."

Jack looks helpless. "But I can't remember that," he says. "I can't. It wasn't me."

But it was. Bunny remembers.

So they go to Tooth. Jack keeps it together through swarming fairies and fingers in his mouth, through questions and lack of answers. Bunny stays close. He was friends with Jokul, and it hurt when Jokul went and vanished on him, went and changed his name and tried to change his appearance and pretended Bunny was a stranger when he finally tracked down his friend. Clear enough message, even for Bunny, who sometimes needs hit with a boulder before he twigs on to the obvious.

Jokul, Jack, doesn't want to be his friend.

But he thinks Jack does, now.

Except Jack is so very, very afraid, and he hunches in on himself as Tooth begins laying out box after box.

They get older by centuries. Jack's box, three hundred years old. A box for Jokul ( _why does Jokul have a different box? Why is Jack's box only three centuries old? Why?_ ) six hundred years old. Another, nine hundred years old. Twelve hundred. Fifteen. Eighteen. Two-thousand-and-one.

More.

There are twenty boxes on the table, three centuries and change between each.

"They all belong to you," Tooth says, and Jack bolts.

Bunny chases. Of course he does. Jack is so very, very frightened, fleeing blindly. And he wants to be caught. He stays low to the ground.

Low enough for Bunny to follow. And Jack knows better than to race a rabbit, to race _this_ rabbit. He doesn't even fight when Bunny jumps, and wraps his arms around Jack, and they land, tumbling through the grass.

"We'll figure it out," Bunny says, and Jack hides his face in thick fur and shakes.

"Didn't you count?" Jack asks. His voice is muffled. The staff pinned between them is uncomfortable, unyielding. "They were all three hundred and twenty years."

No, he didn't count. He'd barely been able to take in the number, the faces, all the same. "And?" he asks, even as he tally's it up in his mind. Three-hundred-twenty years, twenty boxes, that'd be... What? A little over six thousand years?

He tightens his grip on Jack's shoulders. The boxes can't be all his.

Tooth's never wrong. They're all Jack.

One for Jack. One for Jokul.

Bunny clenches his eyes shut, and doesn't shiver because Jack is. He'd thought Jokul deliberately forgot him.

He doesn't know what the truth is. But he already knows its worse.

They walk back to Tooth, and Jack clings tightly to Bunny's hand. He shakes, and shakes, and looks through box after box, and shakes. Bunny stays with him. Tooth guides him through each box.

Jack gets paler and paler, and it'd be better if he cried. Because then Bunny could insist they stop, gather Jack to his chest, and hold tight to Jack, Jokul, Jannik, Jock, Juhana...

But Jack doesn't cry, so they go through another box, and another.

They are spirits. They have all the time in the world.

It still takes a while.

Twenty boxes. Twenty lives.

"I died," Jack says, when they're done. His voice is dull. "I died. Every time. Human. Spirit. Started again. Every time."

Bunny gives in and wraps his arms around Jack. The sprite doesn't seem to notice.

"Hush now," he says, and looks at Tooth.

"I don't know," she says. "We'll have to ask Ombric."

Ombric is tricky, tricky to find, tricky to talk to, tricky all around. His present is past and future and all in-between, and he doesn't understand that other people don't skip from one time to the next, but plod ahead in a steady line.

North is better at finding Ombric, at getting him to talk in the now, and not the past. Tooth goes to explain, because it's doubtful North or Sandy know what's going on, but they might as well be informed. Bunny takes Jack to the Warren, where it's quiet and warm and Jack can curl up and watch the flowers bloom.

"I remember you," Jack says, knees to his chest and hands tight on his staff. "As Jokul. I liked you."

Bunny doesn't look away from the flowers. "I liked you too." He swallows, and makes himself continue. "It hurt. When- I thought you were doing it on purpose. Pretending I was a stranger."

"You didn't know."

He can't help but feel _I should have. I should have known. I shouldn't have got so angry that I let you be for three centuries. I claimed to know you so well, but I ignored what was right underneath my nose._

"I... remember... You and I- Jokul- were close?"

He risks looking over at Jack. The winter sprite isn't shaking. He's just looking at Bunny, looking tired and too young and too old, all at the same time. His eyes are big and blue, and Bunny could drown in them. Fall up into them. Water and sky shading into each other.

Bunny's throat flexes. "You- I thought- Jokul was very special. To me."

Jack looks away first. "I'm going to die."

"No."

"The longest- I was Yochanan," he says, with the proper pronunciation. Old Hebrew, old, old Hebrew. "Three hundred and fifty years. And then I died."

Jack hunches his shoulders. "I'm three hundred and thirty-nine. Now."

Bunny reaches over and grabs Jack's hand, too fast, too tight, and the winter sprite flinches, skin white and cheeks showing the hollows, chin sharp enough to cut butter with. They stare at each other, one blue eyes wide and frightened, one green eyes wide and desperate.

"No," Bunny says. "And even if you do, I'll find you again."

Jack shivers. "Why?" he cries.

"Because." Bunny rubs his thumb over the back of Jack's hand, gentle, gentle, not crushing but cradling. "You're my friend, and I care about you."

Jack winces away from the sentiment, then inches closer, closer, until he can lift his free hand and tangle his fingers in Bunny's fur. Bunny rests his chin on top of Jack's head.

"You did that to Jokul, too."

Of course he did. Jokul was... Well. Special.

Jack is special.

Bunny doesn't want to, but he looks to the future and sees it, Jack after Jack after Jack, with the same face and same eyes and a different name and different memories, always laughing, never knowing who Bunny is. Holding Jack close, and resting his chin on the boy's head, and knowing it's only for a short time. He's old. Three hundred years is nothing but like a single night to him.

So he will hold Jack for the rest of this night. And then he will find who Jack will become, and hold him too. And on, and on, every night for the rest of his life.

Because Jack is Jack, and Jack will always be Jack no matter what happens.

And he holds Jack until the shaking stops, until the boy can look at the flowers and relax.

Of course, that is when the others arrive.

North opens a portal directly into the Warren, which- Bunny swallows down the annoyance, the chiding. _He_ doesn't open tunnels directly into North's Workshop, does he? No. That's rude. But Jack is shaking again, and Jack is more important. So Bunny bites his tongue and holds Jack close, and nods to the others.

"What did Ombric say?"

Sandy huffs. North sighs. And Tooth looks annoyed.

"He was more difficult than usual," she says, and then they begin to explain.

Explain that for some reason, Jack lives as a human, and dies, and comes back as a spirit, only to die again. Not even Ombric knows why. He thinks it's because Jack's a different kind of spirit. That the first time wasn't as a human, but as a personification, a story come to life, like the Trickster Archetype and Death, War, Famine, and Pestilence. They _are_ , but only because humans believe in them, tell stories about them.

Personifications don't have baby teeth. Tooth doesn't have those memories. And Jack is twenty lives away from what he once was.

"But Jack." Tooth leans forward, intense. "We're going to try to stop this. You shouldn't have to... You have believers now. So we'll fix this. You'll see."

Jack smiles, and hunches his shoulders. "I believe you."

Aster can hear the lie, but he lets it stand, because Jack is clutching his fur with one hand.

Knowing makes things worse, because Jack gets more and more frightened the longer things go. Three-hundred-forty-one. They attend Jack's first believers' graduation, up in the back where the children-teenagers can see them, where no one will accidentally walk through them.

Three-hundred-forty-five. Claude insists on marrying his girlfriend, so young. He invites Jack to the bachelor's party, a quiet night in watching movies and talking about romance. Bunny doesn't know what Jack says, but Jamie pulls him aside a few weeks later, either to suggest an intervention for Jack or it's a shovel talk, Bunny doesn't know.

He doesn't have much experience with this sort of thing.

Three-hundred-forty-nine. Jack stops sleeping. He goes around with dark circles under his eyes and a kernel of hope in his breast. Will he-might he-has this? Is the cycle broken? Can he stay? Can he remember?

Pippa publishes an art book. Jamie writes children's novels. Claude and Caleb open their own animation studio, and hire their friends. Cupcake declines; she's going into teaching.

Jack gets more believers.

Three-hundred-fifty-one. Jack's still here. Hope has flowered in him. Bunny holds him close, and rests his chin on top of the boy's head, and breathes in the scent of frost and joy and _I think I might just be able to stay_ and hopes, too.

Three-hundred-fifty-nine. Ombric visits the Warren. He just shows up, for tea.

"Thank you for inviting me. Hello again Jack, I like your haircut."

Talking with Ombric is always confusing.

"Having believers would anchor me, but I don't, so I'm not. You're out of cranberry preserves?"

"No," Aster says. "We have plenty of that?"

"Oh, that's next week. And congratulations. Five centuries is a lovely anniversary, don't you think? Sorry I didn't bring you anything. I'll remember next time."

Bunny files that away, and gets the preserves.

"Believers... I have believers now," Jack says. Hope beats a tattoo inside his chest, like his heart, _maybe, maybe, maybe_. "Is that why I haven't...?"

"Haven't?" Ombric asks, looking confused. "Haven't what- Oh, cranberry preserves! Thank you, Bunnymund."

"Jack's had those previous lives," Bunny points out. He nibbles on his toast, but he doesn't have much appetite. "He's lasted longer as Jack Frost than anyone else."

"Believers would do it. I told you they would," Ombric says, looking at Jack. "But now I must go, I'm going to be dreadfully late. Thank you for tea."

And then he's gone.

Jack glares at Ombric's uneaten toast. "He never told me anything."

Bunny sighs. "He probably will."

Jack turns to Bunny. "Having believers keeps me here," he says, and smiles. He holds out one hand.

Bunny smiles, and takes it. "Going to stick around, Frost?" he asks.

"Try and get rid of me," Jack says, and his Hope vanishes, transfigured to Joy. He's staying.

Bunny's pretty happy, too.

* * *

The tribe listens to the story-man, the elder with gray hair and only half his teeth, as he tells them about the world. About the Rabbit Spirit in each rabbit, who gives them rabbit bodies so they can live, as Deer gives them bodies, as Fish and Beaver. Tree gives them wood and seeds, fruits and nuts. Wood burns to keep them warm, and the story-man tells them about Fire, who hates Water, and drives the Shadows away. Monsters don't like the Light, and Fire dances with Light.

The story-man then tells them about the Boy-Ice-Wind, the howling voice that brings cold with him. Boy-Ice-Wind. _Jack_ for Boy, Frost for Ice-Wind. The story-man doesn't come from the same tribe as everyone else. Sometimes his words are different.

Jack Frost is easier to say than Boy-Ice-Wind, so the tribe nod and use the same words as the story-man.

And one winter, when the story-man is long dead, and the tribe is long dead, and men live in one place and farm instead of roaming the lands and hunt, there is a boy.

He walks in from the snow and the cold, his hair white, his eyes blue, utterly naked.

"My name is Jack Frost," he tells the first people he meets.

He is Jack Frost until the day he dies, until he dies a second time and is born with a new name, and no memory of the past.

Jack Frost wanted to know about humans.

Now, he does.


	9. For Inkandpencil

The problem with Pooka, they were hard to distract.

Or this one was.

Jack considered his target, from a perch high up in the Warren, atop the totem pole Bunny had carved just so "you have somewhere to sit that _isn't_ breathing down my neck, you yobbo."

Whatever, Jack liked high spots. You could see everyone coming from a mile away. Usually more.

The totem pole was a really good place to sit and look around the Warren. He could see just about everywhere, except for a few side caverns and Bunny's little hill-house-thing. After a few mumble years he'd gotten used to sleeping in a glorified cave, and Bunny had been very nice about putting in extra windows so Jack didn't get claustrophobic or anything.

He wrenched his mind back on track. Bunny was sitting on a low hill, doing... something... with baskets. He got like this, Bunny did, when he started thinking too much. Jack had asked once if Bunny minded being interrupted then.

"No," Bunny had said, voice fuzzy with sleep. "I don' mind. Brain goes Walkabout to bad places, yeah?"

Jack had figured out what was a bad thinking posture, and a good one. Good typically involved pacing, and ranting, and painting, and exclamations like "yellow ducks! No, green, I haven't done green in a while."

Bad typically involved hunched over, brooding, and general inattention.

Like now, in fact.

Jack sighed, and jumped into the air. Time to go be distracting. And hey, with what he had planned, it'd even be fun.

He dropped down just in front of Bunny, and grinned. "Hey, fluffy-butt. What's shaking?"

Bunny didn't look up from his basket weaving. Eeesh. That was okay, Jack had a lot of tricks up his sleeve.

Of course, when he'd circled Bunny twice and gotten half a twitch for his efforts... He reached down and tweaked that fluffy cottontail. That got him a jump and bitten off yelp.

"What're you- Jack, stop that!"

Jack widened his eyes in his best innocent look. "Stop what?" he asked, and rubbed at the base of Bunny's tail. The nub of tailbone was hard under the fluff, much like the rest of the Pooka, really. Under that fluffy, velvet-soft fur was a bunch of whipcord muscle and iron-solid bone.

Bunny grunted, but the grunt turned into a groan fairly quickly. That might have had something to do with how Jack tugged on his tail.

For some people, it was their neck or shoulders or elbows or- hell, he didn't know purple nerples- that connected directly to the groin. For Bunny, it was his tail.

Jack absolutely did not abuse that knowledge. No. Not at all.

Well.

Maybe a _little_.

He gave Bunny's tail a last tug, and finished the third circle around the Pooka. He grinned, at the expression on Bunny's face- bemusement and lust and a hint of gratitude- and the flash of pale pink just visible between the Pooka's legs.

"Hey," Jack said, and crouched down, knees spread. Bunny's eyes immediately went down to Jack's crotch, because he was predictable like that. "I'm _bored_."

"You don't have to stay in," Bunny said, ears tilting back. His nose was twitching, as he sampled the available scents.

Jack made a loud and dramatic sigh, one of his best. "But it's _summer_. I'd rather stay in."

"Well..."

"Oh!" He held up one hand. "I know!"

Bunny raised an eyebrow. "Should I worry?"

He ignored that. "We can have a race!"

The Pooka snorted. "A race? Why-" He paused, and frowned at Jack. "What're the stakes?"

Totally appropriate to wrap an arm around Bunny's shoulders and snuggle in close. "I thought," he breathed, and nuzzled his cheek against the Pooka's. "We could have a _naked_ race."

He leaned back, and pulled his sweater off. For some reason Bunny liked Jack's scrawny body, so whatever. He'd go with it. Bunny helped with Jack's pant.

"And when I win?" Bunny asked, and rubbed his thumb against the jut of Jack's hipbone. "Mm?"

Focus, brain. Jack smirked. " _If_ you win, that thing with your hips I said no to? It'll be a go. But if _I_ win... I get to do that thing with my ice you said no to."

Silly Pooka. Jack had complete control over his ice, even when getting pounded into the mattress- or table, or floorboards, or ground.

Bunny frowned, and then smirked and stood up. "Fly fast, Frostbite. 'Cause you're going to lose."

"Nuh-uh, Legs. Either way," Jack smirked, and hopped up into the air. Good thing he had experience flying with an erection. Kept him from, you know, going all the way up into the roof and getting a concussion or something. "I'm going to win."

Then he took off, leaving Bunny to curse about countdowns and cheating.

Which, you know, _duh_.


End file.
